


You are the backbone of my surrounding sounds

by troubledsouls



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, More characters in the future babes don't worry this is gonna be a bandom fest, Self Harm, Suicide Themes, im posting this just for feedback I have some idea of a plot + long chapters planned whaaaaat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:41:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledsouls/pseuds/troubledsouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything's twisting and beginning to fall down…</p><p>Tyler is alone<br/>Josh is never alone</p><p>One reaches out in the darkness…<br/>And grasps the other</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are the backbone of my surrounding sounds

Tyler sits in his cell. 

Black figures creep along the walls, flowing in and out of the bars that face the corridor, watching him. Their eyes are red, and they glow. 

Keeping an eye on him. 

Tyler snorts. It's a bit of a pun, isn't it?

He scratches the floor with the point of the knife all the inmates are given. There's a noose by his bed, always swinging ominously. 

They're regulation for all inmates. They're in here for life, after all, and suicide is the only way for them to shorten the sentence. 

The shadows laugh at Tyler, at his will to survive. The caretakers expected him to be dead months earlier, because he'd been so suicidal before ending up in the cell. 

A single lightbulb swings above his head, much like the noose. It's on for 12 hours and off for 12 hours. 

Tyler can't hear anything, either. There's a blocking spell on his cell, so that he can't hear and can't use his magic. 

The solitary ones go insane. Nobody's lasted as long as Tyler has. He's been there for three years. He hasn't had human contact in three years. 

Tyler knows he's insane, that he's bat-shit crazy. He was before he came here, that's why he's lasted so long. He's accepted it. He isn't going to die.

The scars covering his body say otherwise, but he hasn't bled out yet, so that's a plus. 

The knife can't scratch the floor, but Tyler tries to anyways. 

He knows he's crazy. 

That's what's kept him alive this long. 

Has he thought that already? Many times. It keeps him alive. 

Alive is the only thing keeping him going.

* * *

Josh is wedged into a corner, his corner, he's claimed it and if anyone else gets in it he can kill them. He knows how to kill. 

It's stained with blood from people who've had a death wish. Josh doesn't mind. It just proves that the corner is his. 

There's only four corners, he's lucky he has one. He fought for it, he won the fight, it's his and he refuses to fight anyone else. 

He may appear scrawny from his six long years here, but he's strong, and the old owner of the corner was cocky enough to think he could win. The old owner is dead. It's Josh's corner now. 

Josh used to have a section of the wall, which is better than having a middle section, which is what he had when he first was locked in here. But now he has a corner, now he's strong, and nobody can take the corner because it is _his_. 

His corner. 

Josh is definitely just a bit crazy. 

He's waiting for the bell that signals they're going to be fed, that the rations are going to be distributed. The chatter is dying down, it's going to be any minute. 

There it is, there's the bell. 

Josh scrambles to his feet and dashes forward into the sudden rush of bodies. He will get as much as he wants because he can fight through. 

Maybe, if he's unlucky, someone with a death wish will try to take his corner. There's almost always someone every feeding time. Mostly new people. But Josh was smarter than that when he was first here. 

He wishes he could use his magic to get what he wants, but there's a blocking field on the large room and it's so frustrated to try and tap into his magic source only to feel a wall. 

He manages to grab three rations, little cubes of nutrients. Eight keeps someone going for a whole twenty-four hours without feeling hunger, but nobody ever gets eight. Josh got seven one time, but never eight. 

He shoves them into the pocket of his torn and dirty pants that haven't been changed in six years and heads back to his corner, where a terrified boy sits, curled up and shaking. 

Josh sighs and flexes his fingers. “My corner. You have five seconds.”

The boy uncurls and scrambled away. 

Maybe at least one person didn't have a death wish. 

Dark figures flow across the ceiling, and they laugh.


End file.
